A flickering candle lit the small cave where Sielic remained. A desk had been dragged into the recesses of the cave and he sat there, papers piled around him. A casual glance offered more scribbles than anything else. The intelligible writing showed signs of violent shaking as it was penned. The man wore stained leather armor, ragged and fraying in places. His face was currently buried in his hands as he listened to the reports of a spy.
“They’ve had success in the Foundry. The main forces are moving on towards the Citadel. Supplies are…” Sielic stopped paying attention to the man, and looked over towards the corner. The worgen had returned, he noticed. His head raised from the desk. A coldness in his eyes, and his usual smirk mimicked.
“So?” Sielic gestured for the worgen to speak.
“Nothing has changed. The prophet still talks of the Rose wilting as it marches towards its’ death.” In moments, Sielic’s face changed. The coldness banished by flames of rage and anger. The worgen retreated and the spy’s voice broke in again.
“Who are you speaking to?! I am telling you, we need to strike before they have gone too far! You’ll let them walk to their deaths along this path you swore they could not take! Why do you not act?! Why do you sit here, brooding in your silent darkness?”
The spy had crossed a line, though he did not know it yet. The features on Sielic’s face were changing, not just from anger but in transformation. His jaw cracked repeatedly as it extended, his fangs becoming more pronounced. Fur broke through the surface of his skin all over. His bones shifted, creaking, popping all the while. His form towered over the spy and he snarled at the man.
“You! You do not understand! They must see the path is wrong! They will fight me if I interfere!” He stomped towards the spy. This spy had more backbone than most.
“We are losing our opportunity! We have had chances to stop them, to save them from themselves, from the future! Why do we not act?!”
The blow took the spy by surprise, and tossed him bodily into the cavern walls. Sielic stalked over.
“SILENCE!” He roared, anger burning in his eyes. “You do not understand the value of silence!” His claws tore the man’s throat out.
“You speak without true knowledge, without experience! I have seen what comes! I know! I was chosen to know! I lead you to stop it, but I will not throw it all away because you are afraid of silence, of inaction! We must be patient.” His hand clenches tightly, gore dripping from it. He bends closer.
“You will understand soon, as will they. I will grant you sleep and the dreams of what is to come. Face them, and return. You will understand. I strive to save lives, to preserve a dying Rose. If I must let them play this out, I will. They will find their victories here in Draenor, they will grow strong. But Azeroth is mine, I will take their homes, any refuge they may have had. It will be ours, they will have no place to turn. With nowhere to go, truly they will drift, but they will drift along the currents I have started. They will wash up before me, and I will take them in, save them from themselves. It is as it must be! You will see that when you wake, my friend. Dream now.”
Sielic stalked back over to his desk. He sat down and slowly returned to a human form. The next day, when someone came in to report, they found the spy’s body. Cold, lifeless, with throat torn out entirely. Sielic remained awake, muttering. His face was buried in his hands again, passive and emotionless. The blood from the man’s throat covered his hands and stained his face and hair. Without looking up, he ordered the messenger to report.